


Spring

by newrelics



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Depression, Drama, M/M, Sad, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 08:51:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newrelics/pseuds/newrelics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything was still there, from the pressed leaves placed between Marco`s folded clothes, to the cheap soap that he kept wrapped in a handkerchief, to the stack of letters that were always sitting under the mattress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spring

The light was pouring through the opened window, melted gold and amber spreading around on the wooden floor, crawling its way towards the small bed at the end of the room. The desk was completely empty; the bed was made and looked like no one has slept in there for days. 

It was morning and the air smelled cool, a quality only morning air can have just in those specific days of early spring, when the weather isn’t yet too warm, but the snow has melted and the trees are shyly turning green. It was a morning that smelled of last winter with a bit of promise of flowers. 

The wind blew, gently and almost whispery inside the empty room, the light blue drapes moved slightly, making the sun rays dance on the floor.

Slowly, the door opened. He had half expected to hear it squeak or creak, or make some sort of noise, like all the other doors from the building. It was an old building and creaking, squeaking and other noises that come with aged structures were more than common, it was, as one might put it, the norm. Jean walked inside, tall and lanky, messy hair and eyes half closed. He didn’t see the room as being empty, or looking like an abandoned space where no one was spend the night in ages. Because Jean knew what to look for, he knew that on the bed stand there were two framed pictures, one of a family, smiling that smile that makes the edge of your eyes wrinkle, that honest smile that Jean really loved. The other picture was more recent. It was of him with an arm tossed around Marco`s shoulders. They were wearing winter uniforms, those thick, ugly colored uniforms that made them look bulky. They were both smiling that smile that makes your eyes wrinkle at the edges. 

The small shelf of books that hanged above the desk was full of Marco`s favorite stories, most of them so old Jean never had the guts to touch them in fear that they might turn to dust in his hands. The room didn’t look abandoned and empty to Jean because Jean knew that under the bed there was a box filled with colorful rocks, the ones Marco insisted on bringing back “because where have you ever seen a rock that`s red?”.   
Jean smiled and walked inside. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked around. He knew that behind the dresser there was a music box that Marco hid there when they first arrived, or that in the first drawer of the desk there was a notebook full of sketches of the things Armin kept talking about. The infinite salty waters, the mountains, animals with long necks and spots and things that Jean thought could never exist.   
Everything was still there, from the pressed leaves placed between Marco`s folded clothes, to the cheap soap that he kept wrapped in a handkerchief, to the stack of letters that were always sitting under the mattress. 

The door opened again and Jean smiled at the tan face that peeked inside. “Found you.” He said, scratching a freckled cheek. His dark hair was messy and his eyes were also half closed, the shirt he was wearing – all wrinkled up and old. “What are you doing here?”   
Jean looked and shrugged. He got up, took a few steps towards Marco until he closed the space between them and kissed the tip of his noise. “I don’t know.” He said.   
Marco laughed and his eyes wrinkled at the edges and Jean smiled.   
“We have to run laps in twenty and Eren is using all the hot water. We should go take a shower, not stare at my room. What is it that you like about it so much?”   
“It`s yours.”   
“Dork.”   
“But you love me.”   
“Yeah.” 

Jean was sitting on the edge of the bed. It was early spring, but he kept the windows shut and there were no blue drapes. It didn’t smell like early spring. The shelves and dresser were empty, the letters from under the mattress, gone. The music box was in his room now, hidden under the bed, the pictures were out of frame, held most of the time in Jean`s pocket. He also took the rocks and the books and the notebook Marco drew in. He kept the wrapped soap and the pressed leaves. The room looked like no one has spend the night there in ages, and Jean knew it was true.

~

He wasn’t coping well.   
He wasn’t coping at all.   
After one month he was sitting on the side of Marco`s bed, staring into a distance that did not exist. The room was too small, too empty. Yet Jean`s eye wandered far, swollen and red and tired, they wandered and sometimes they could see memories, but sometimes, when his mind was too tired, he just searched for blackness. Blackness was comforting.   
The room didn’t smell like Marco anymore, not even the sheets, or the pillow or the blanket. Marco`s old clothes didn’t hold his scent either. It was devastating how quickly his traces were fading, slowly, melted by time.  
Jean was starting to forget his voice. He was desperately doing his best to remember how Marco sounded when he said his name – Jean- there was a way the vowels would roll on his tongue, soft and open and sweet.   
It wasn’t like he didn’t try. He did, every day he did his best to remember. Jean used Marco`s shirts to sleep in, he used the same soap in a desperate attempt to not forget how he smelled. It didn’t work. Nothing did. Marco was fading.

***

Two months later, Jean found himself at dinner, though he didn’t want to be there. Mikasa dragged him by the hair and he was too tired to put on a fight. Sasha pushed food in his direction, telling him to put something in his mouth, to just…try. Jean scoffed. He wasn’t hungry. Armin up from his plate and looked at him sympathetic. Jean knew what was coming. He hated that speech “I know what you’re going through, he as our friend as well.”  
“Jean…”   
“No.”   
“I didn’t even say a thing… Just…look, you have meat…have a bite, you look like you`re gonna pass out.”   
He pushed a carrot with his fork and closed his burning eyes. He dreaded hearing people speak to him like he was so fragile that he was going to break when the first wind hit. Jean pushed his place back to Sasha and shrugged.   
“I`m not hungry.”   
On the other side of the table Eren slapped his spoon on the hard, wooden surface and stared at Jean with a dangerous frown on his face, clenching his teeth. “Don’t be fucking stupid! Look at you! Have you fucking looked at you!? I`m sorry, Jean, but Marco is dead, ok? And he wouldn’t want you to fuck your life like that.”  
Eren walked out of the mass hall with a black eye and Jean had his knuckles bruised.

***

It has been three months and Jean was being force fed. Not that his friends needed a lot of force, Jean was falling apart, he was thin and weak and exhausted, wanting nothing more than to sleep his life away. Wouldn’t that be a dream…?   
“Jean, please…” Armin was holding a cup of something. “Just drink this, please?”   
He frowned and wrinkled his nose. By this time he didn’t even remember the patterns Marco`s freckles made. Of the exact shade of his skin, or even the texture of his hair. Marco was a shadow in his mind.   
“Jean? Just drink this.”  
“The hell is that?”   
“Some herbs. It will make you feel better, c`mon…Everyone is worried. You…you look awful and we don’t know what to do anymore.” The cup was shaking in Armin`s hands, so Jean drank. He didn’t feel any better.

***

“Why the fuck are you doing this!?” Eren was holding him by the collar. “Haven`t enough died!? Why are you doing this!?”   
It`s been four months. Eren couldn’t stand looking at Jean turning into a walking corpse - yellowish skin and purple eyelids, shaky hands and a blank expression. He had the same expression now.   
“Just leave me alone.”  
“You want to die? Is that it? You want to die so you`re just…just killing yourself slowly and making everyone watch!?” He shouted, hands trembling on Jean`s collar.  
Jean didn’t care. But that was the first time Jean started thinking about dying.

***

It`s been six months. Jean was sitting on the edge of Marco`s bead, staring into the distance that did not exist. The room was too small, too empty. In his left hand he was carrying a small bag.  
“H-hey, Marco…I kind of miss you. I miss you a lot, you know. I…I can`t do this anymore. Not without you.”   
Jean took a deep breath and opened the bag. “You know, Marco, you were the one that believed in ghosts. Maybe…maybe we`ll met, what do you say? Would you like that?” He muttered under his breath and pulled out a small vial. He opened it and took a quick sniff before drinking it quickly. It was foul.   
He laid on Marco`s bed and stared at the ceiling., feeling all of a sudden numb and sleepy. It was a kind of sleep he couldn’t fight. A kind of sleep he didn’t want to fight. 

“Hey, Jean.” And Jean smiled. He remembered everything now.


End file.
